


Touch My Hot Alien Marbles

by shakespearesque



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Masturbation, no actual dicks shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearesque/pseuds/shakespearesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick leaves Morty in another dimension for a dumb reason and Morty and another version of himself get a little steamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch My Hot Alien Marbles

“H-how’s the game, Jerry?” Rick says sarcastically as he walks into the living room, sort of laughing at himself.

Jerry glances up at Rick from his place on the couch, dragging his eyes from the football game with not a small amount of trouble. There’s a long pause, even after Jerry isn’t entranced by the tackling and the balls and whatnot. “Shouldn’t you know, _Genius_?” he retorts, finally.

Rick actually laughs. “There’s a difference between fact and opinion, JEUGH-erry.”

Jerry frowns. “I know that,” he says.

“An example. Fact,” Rick says, “I left Morty at, uh, I left Morty in another dimension. Opinion,” he starts, and Jerry gapes.

“You what?”

“Opinion: that is a bad thing,” Rick finishes, while Jerry is running out of the living room and up the stairs to check Morty’s room, hoping that Rick is lying.

“Morty?” Jerry calls. “Morty!”

“I told you-EURGH,” Rick says, loud enough for Jerry to hear from the other side of the house. “Another dimension, Jerry. That’s where he—that’s where Morty is.”

“Morty!” Jerry calls again.

“Fucking idiot,” Rick says, rolling his eyes. He goes into the garage and digs a screwdriver out of a bag and starts working on a robot that he hopes will be able to turn water into whiskey.

***

Morty opens his eyes to a magenta sky and as things become clearer the sound of something like crickets or thousands of staplers or the ticket counting machines at Chuck-E-Cheese’s surrounds him like fog. He has an insane headache. “Ri-iiick?” he mumbles, sitting up.

“Morty. Listen.”

Morty looks around, but doesn’t see Rick. It’s definitely Rick’s voice, though.

“Rick, what—?”

“Morty. It’s a recording, Morty. It’s right—it’s over here, look, Morty. I need you to do something for me. Have you found the device yet? It’s right here. You’re like—it’s like you have turds for eyes.”

“I see it, damn,” Morty says, narrowing his eyes, which are not turds. How can Rick manage to be a dick when he isn’t even present?

“Okay, Morty. Now l-li—now listen. I left you to do this because I can’t do it. I’m very strictly banned from this dimension and while that doesn’t usually stop me, I’m also very embarrassed to be seen with you there. You get me? Now, look, Morty. This place has got lots of Ricks. Lots of ‘em. H-here’s what you gotta do. Find the Rick with the dragon tattoo. He’s got a dragon tattoo on his shoulder, and I-I need you to find him. Or else you can’t get home, Morty. That’s how you gotta get home, Morty. Find the Rick with the dragon tattoo and, uh, he’ll know what he needs to do. You find him and you’ll be able to come back. Okay, Morty?”

“Uhh, okay, Rick?” Morty says. “I don’t know about this? Did you l-leave me here to find this other Rick just because you’re lazy and i-i-irr-irrrresponsible? I gotta go home, Rick!” He thinks for a second. “Wait, if there are a lot of Ricks here then there are a lot of Mortys so why would you be embarrassed—”

“Quiet, Morty! Go! Also, this is still a recording. Just a reminder. I know you talked to it.”

“Geez,” Morty says, looking around at the sparse forest of orange tree-ish things surrounding him. He pushes himself to standing, rubbing a knot on his head. “Ow,” he says. “You couldn’t have left me where the Ricks are, Rick? Had to be in the middle of nowhere? Did you knock me out with a shoe? Ohhh, this is so wrong.” He brushes off the back of his jeans and picks up the little voice recorder device. It is shaped like a tiny ear.

It fizzes back to life. “Oh, by the way, Morty—I didn’t hit you. You, uh, you got knocked out running into a tree or somethin’. Just in case you—just if you’re wondering. Urrrrp.”

“What the hell?” Morty says. He shoves the tiny ear in his pocket and hopes it won’t go off again. It’s kind of creepy.

He decides all he can do is walk. So he walks out of the weird kind-of forest, feet sticking to the ground every few steps in a gooey-gross way, and when he’s at the edge of the trees he sees a campfire surrounded by silhouettes of people—or aliens, most likely they’re aliens—up ahead.

“Ohhh,” he groans, almost tripping over a fat goopy slug-like creature. He doesn’t want to go up to them. He really doesn’t. But what else can he do? Dickwad dickhole Rick left him alone and he can’t very well just sit on the ground and wait for him to show back up. Well, he could. And he wants to. He just might. The ear buzzes in his pocket.

“Don’t be a pussy, Morty.”

Morty starts to wonder if the thing even is a recording. “Fine, Rick, god, I’ll go, I’ll go see the stupid aliens,” he mumbles. He walks towards them and as he gets closer in the dimming light he can make out the shapes of heads. There are about 10 people in the circle, and for some reason they alternate between tall and short. The tall ones have…tentacles coming out of their heads? No—something else…

Morty is still squinting at them, a few feet away, when they notice him.

“Greetings?” a Tall says, standing. It looks like Rick. Kind of. Morty is close enough now that he can see them.

“R-Rick?” he says.

It looks kind of like Rick, but, like, a George Clooney version of Rick. Like if he wasn’t actually that old and was distinguished and handsome and clean—

“Are you a—Morty?” the handsome Rick says, confused, and Morty, dumbstruck, nods.

A Short turns around and, well, this guy looks kind of like Morty, but, like, a hot version of Morty. Like Leonardo DiCaprio or something. With Morty’s hair color. Wow.

“You’re a Morty?” the Hot Morty asks, and normal Morty’s eyes get even bigger.

“A-a-aaare you?” Morty says.

Some more Hot Mortys turn around and smile dazzling smiles at Morty.

“Come here,” one says, patting the place next to him on the orange log.

Morty walks into the circle and sits. He suddenly remembers his mission. How is he supposed to find which Rick has a dragon tattoo? Is he allowed to just ask? What if none of these are the dragon tattoo Rick? They’re not punk-looking or anything, Morty would actually be surprised if any one of them had any kind of tattoo at all.

“We’re roasting poofaloos,” a Hot Morty says excitedly.

“Poofa—?” He shoves a fluffy sugary thing into Morty’s mouth.

“Don’t ask,” a Rick says. He’s smiling. Smiling! Morty is getting a little anxious. The shock is dissipating and being replaced by, oh god, I’m surrounded by hot versions of me and Rick, and the hot Ricks look happy. Is it weird to be attracted to a hot version of yourself? Because Morty thinks he might have a crush on the Morty that shoved the puffy thing in his mouth. He also thinks his Rick is probably attracted to the handsome Ricks. Oh my god, what if Rick is embarrassed to come here because he’s attracted to the hot Ricks? Unlikely, Rick isn’t particularly self-conscious. Maybe he thinks the hot Ricks won’t like him because he doesn’t have a hot Morty?

“Uhh, hey, uh, does anyone of you Ricks happen to have a dragon tattoo?” Morty blurts. The Ricks all widen their eyes and look around at one another.

One Rick stands and looks meaningfully at the other Ricks. “Listen, come over here, Morty. Let’s talk.” He reaches out a hand and Morty, willing to do just about anything at this point, walks over to him and takes his hand. Handsome Rick leads Morty out of the circle and to a tent set up a few yards from the campfire. Morty hadn’t noticed it.

“Do you have the tattoo?” Morty asks. “My grandpa Rick, uh, C-137 Rick, said that you could help me get home.”

“I do,” the Rick says solemnly. “But I don’t like to admit it. I got it in college and have regretted it for the past 30 years.”

“Y-you, uh, you could get it removed or something,” Morty says.

“That’s not the point, Morty,” he says. “Ever since that goddamn book came out…Anyway, yes, I know your Rick well.”

“That’s, yeah, that’s great, but could you help me get home?”

“Sure,” he says. Handsome Rick sticks his head out of the tent and whistles with two fingers in the direction of the campfire.

One of the Hot Mortys appears next to them.

“This is my Morty,” Rick says. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Wha—? How is this going to help me get home? Rick told me to find you,” Morty whines, grabbing Handsome Rick’s lab coat sleeve. The Hot Morty gently pries Morty’s hands off of Rick and squeezes them.

“I will help you,” he murmurs, still holding Morty’s hands. Handsome Rick nods and grins and crawls out, going back to the campfire.

“Uhhh,” Morty says after a few seconds of silence. Hot Morty is still holding his hands, and Hot Morty’s hands are warm and dry and soft but strong-feeling—Morty likes it. Okay. He does.

“How’d you like that poofaloo?” Hot Morty murmurs, releasing Morty’s hands. Morty smiles.

“That was you?” he says. And then he remembers who he’s talking to. “Oh, oh geez. Hot Morty? Can I call you that?”

“Yes,” Hot Morty says demurely. “You think I’m hot?”

“Well, uh, duh,” Morty says. “You’re, like, the hottest dude I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen that many—I mean, like. I don’t look at guys that often, I’ve seen them, though, but like—“

“Quiet,” Hot Morty says, laughing softly. He reaches out and runs a hand through Morty’s hair. “I wish they made Mortys like you here. We’re all the same. Talk the same, look the same.”

“Are you—clones?” Morty asks hesitantly.

“Sort of,” Hot Morty says, and looks off to the side as if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

It’s quiet, and then Morty says, “What I was gonna say was, what are we doing?”

Hot Morty bites his lower lip, smiling, and puts his hand on Morty’s thigh and Morty can feel the warmth through his jeans and it feels so _nice_. He rubs his thumb back and forth, tiny motions, along the inner seam of the jeans. Morty closes his eyes. Hot Morty’s thumb works higher, gradually getting more circular, tracing bigger and bigger circles into Morty’s inner thigh and he squeezes for a second, pulling himself closer to Morty.

Morty is a little hard at this point, and then Hot Morty puts his lips to his ear and breathes and says, “I really want to lick you,” and nips at his earlobe, and he’s sucking lightly at Morty’s neck, and he is sure he’s hard now.

“Mm,” Morty whines.

Hot Morty takes Morty’s face in his hands and kisses him, and Morty kisses him back. He feels Hot Morty’s tongue on his lips, and he opens and lets it toy with his own tongue, warm and wet and slick, and he groans in the back of his throat. Hot Morty takes a hand down from Morty’s cheeks and adjusts his erection, and fuck, Morty loves it, loves that Hot Morty is hard and he can see his dick pushing against his jeans, loves being able to see that Hot Morty is turned on, because he’s turned on too.

“Mm, Hot Morty?” Morty mumbles.

“Yeah?” he says into Morty’s neck.

Nothing, never mind, Morty thinks, because Hot Morty is laying him back, laying Morty down and getting on top of him. He pushes his hips into Morty’s thigh, grinding his hard cock on Morty’s leg. Morty groans again. “Yeah,” he whispers, and Hot Morty grins.

“You like it, baby?” Oh, Morty loves it. Hot Morty relaxes his body so that they are fitted together and grinds his thigh into Morty’s erection. Morty pushes back, loving both the friction on his cock and the feeling of the hard line of Hot Morty’s on his groin. “God, I could get off like this,” Hot Morty says, and Morty thinks, _well, yeah_.

“You wanna cum in your pants, Morty?” Hot Morty murmurs in his ear, and frick if that doesn’t almost do it right there. Morty nods frantically.

“Too bad,” Hot Morty says, and sits up, and gets off of Morty. “Okay, I needed you to be very aroused to do this.” Morty is sad. He gapes at Hot Morty like a fish. Hot Morty coos, “I’m sorry, baby, I am, I really do want to make you cum, you look so good like this, but I have to send you home, right?”

Morty nods. “Yeah, but I can’t, can’t I cum first?” He palms his dick through his pants and groans at the pressure.

“No, no,” Hot Morty says. “It’s called edging.”

“I know t-that,” Morty says.

“Then hold still.” Hot Morty takes something out of his pocket and lifts up the waistband of Morty’s jeans and swabs the head of his dick with a cotton swab.

“I could have done this at home, myself,” Morty says.

“This is what’s getting you home,” Hot Morty says.

“Then why did Rick send me here?” Morty asks.

“Oh, for these,” Hot Morty says. He holds up a mesh bag full of things that look like marbles. They wiggle. “My Rick left them when you guys came in here, didn’t you see?”

Morty is confused. This causes his dick to soften a little. He wants to go home.

“Here,” Hot Morty says, and hands the bag to Morty. Now I’m just going to stick this in here—” he pulls out a little thing that looks like Rick’s portal gun and sticks the head of the cotton swab into it, “—and you’ll feel a little shock…” he pokes it to Morty’s small bicep. “Bye, Morty, you’re beautiful……” Hot Morty says, and then what feels like a bazillion volts of electricity goes through Morty’s arm and he screams and when he opens his eyes he’s in the garage and Rick is drinking from his flask, leaning up against the wall.

“Heyy, Morty,” Rick says. “Jerry was so pissed that I left you there, EURRP! Ha ha!”

“Here’s your stupid—dang—alien marbles, Rick.” He throws the bag to Rick, who almost catches it, but fumbles.

“You mad or, or something, Morty?”

“Yes,” Morty says, and walks out of the garage into the house.

He goes upstairs. _Rick is such a fucking asshole_ , he thinks. He still has a nagging feeling of wanting to get off, so he goes into his bedroom, shuts the door, and lies down on his bed.

He thinks of Hot Morty’s face, of Hot Morty licking his cock, mouth full of it, wet, and is immediately hard again.

“Hot Morty,” he murmurs, feeling only a little weird about the fact that it’s, like, himself. A Morty. He rubs his dick through his pants, reveling in the warm friction and pressure of his palm. He thinks about the Hot Rick, too, touching himself, pushing away the idea that it’s, like, a Rick, and imagines Hot Rick pushed up against a wall, a Hot Morty with his strong hands wrapped around Hot Rick’s tanned wrists, holding him, Hot Rick moaning, Hot Morty pushing his cock hard into Hot Rick’s hip—god, god, Morty pushes down and squeezes and comes in his pants, warm and wet, and god. He remembers Hot Morty asking if he wanted to do that. He did. _Thank you, Hot Morty_ , Morty thinks. Maybe he’s glad Rick left him there after all. Maybe he should try to go back sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a newbie in this fandom!! So I hope there isn't anything too weird. By weird I mean out of character or doesn't make sense in Rick and Morty's universe....not the pairings....because we all know they're weird....but we love 'em anyway.......right, guys?


End file.
